Puerto Del Carmen

There's grilling, and then there's grilling your lunch on a volcanic vent-because nothing says culinary bravado like letting your chicken slow-roast over heat escaping from the fiery bowels of the earth itself. At Timanfaya National Park in Lanzarote, barbecue enthusiasts and geology geeks alike can experience El Diablo restaurant, a delightful slice of volcanic audacity, where chefs casually harness magma-heated steam vents to cook your seafood skewers to sizzling perfection. Arrive mid-afternoon as the tourist buses begin their exodus, leaving you plenty of room (and fewer selfie sticks to deal with) while the sun casts dramatic shadows over the Mars-like landscape. Plan to book at least a week ahead to secure a spot near the lava-powered grill, and come with €30 to €40 per person-reasonable enough, considering your meal is cooked by the planet itself. Don't forget sunscreen, shades, and a healthy respect for Mother Nature's cooking implement. Even if the chicken isn't the best you've ever tasted (though trust me, it's deliciously smoky), the bragging rights alone are worth the price-there aren't many dinner stories that start with the phrase, "So there I was, eating ribs cooked by volcanic fury..."

Descending beneath the sunlit waves off Playa Blanca into Europe's first submerged art gallery feels like gatecrashing a surreal aquatic cocktail party-a place where silence reigns and the guests have fins and tentacles. At the Museo Atlantico, hauntingly beautiful sculptures by renowned artist Jason deCaires Taylor rest serenely on the seabed, shifting subtly from moody contemporary art to playgrounds for coral, fish, and curious divers, each artwork morphing delightfully over time as marine life claims them as their own. Dive early in the morning to avoid crowds and catch that ethereal underwater light; book your spot at least a week ahead with a local dive center, as these submerged sculptures have quite the fan club. Budget about €120 for a guided dive, and don't forget to pack sunscreen, a towel, and a dry change of clothes-you'll emerge dripping, exhilarated, and slightly bewildered, ready to recount tales of floating amidst cement bankers, selfie-taking statues, and masked figures inhabiting a surreal oceanic dreamscape. Even if contemporary art doesn't usually float your boat, sinking beneath the waves to wander among stubbornly silent sculptures is worth it just for the bragging rights-after all, how many people can claim they've been critiqued by judgemental fish in a museum 12 meters below the Atlantic Ocean?

If you've ever fantasized about sipping a drink on the edge of the earth while the horizon spontaneously combusts, El Golfo at sunset is your place. Perched on Lanzarote's raw volcanic coastline-landscapes that look suspiciously like Mars after a rebellious teenage phase-this tiny fishing village boasts sunsets so vivid they practically demand royalties. Tourists and locals alike gather at seaside tavernas, clutching glasses brimming with local wines, or perhaps a scandalously cold lager, ready for the show. Arrive early evening; you'll snag the best seaside tables, a bit battered by ocean spray but charmingly authentic. And forget pretension-bring sunglasses, regardless of the hour, to hide your awe-stricken expressions (and any reactions to a second round of mojo picon sauce). Budget around €15-€25 per person, unless you intend to sample every tapas offering in sight, in which case double that-and loosen the belt. Plan ahead only slightly; spontaneity fits the vibe, though weekends warrant booking. Trust me, even the grumpiest traveler or pretentious Instagrammer won't resist being humbled by nature's flamboyant grand finale. Go to El Golfo at sunset, if only because "once in Lanzarote I watched the sun melt into ancient volcanic cliffs while debating the finer points of grilled octopus" is a story your friends never get tired of hearing-and one they'll secretly envy.

Perched on Lanzarote's northern edge like a Bond villain's hideaway, Mirador del Rio isn't just your standard scenic overlook-it's the architectural lovechild of Cesar Manrique, the eccentric genius who carved whimsical dreams into volcanic rock. Once used as a stealthy lookout to spot invading pirates (because who doesn't cherish a little swashbuckling context?), this cliffside perch now beckons visitors to gaze dramatically onto the sapphire expanse of sea, peppered artfully with the islands of La Graciosa and her scattered entourage. For best results, skip the midday tour buses and swing by early morning or just before sunset when the sky blushes romantically and the Instagrammers briefly hesitate, torn between savoring the view and chasing likes. Book your tickets online a week in advance to dodge queues and budget around €5 per person-less than you'd spend on a disappointing airport latte. Bring a windbreaker and sunglasses to simultaneously fend off Atlantic gusts and hide any tears of awe (or existential dread) that the view may induce. Sure, it's "just" a viewpoint, but tell me: how often do you visit somewhere that looks like it was built by a reclusive billionaire architect planning world domination-while simultaneously sipping cappuccinos and contemplating existence? Exactly.

If your idea of camping involves cushy inflatable mattresses, Wi-Fi, and vaguely annoyed park rangers reminding you about curfews, then toss that fluffy notion straight into the Atlantic. Spending the night on Alegranza Island-an isolated volcanic outcrop stubbornly clinging to the northern edge of the Canary Islands like a moody, rock-faced hermit-is camping with character, grit, and just the right amount of existential dread. With no permanent residents (unless seabirds count, and they'll angrily insist they do), Alegranza serves up solitude, black-lava sunsets, and nighttime skies so clear you'll swear someone dialed the Milky Way brightness setting up to eleven. Arrive in the late afternoon to snag prime tent real estate, pack in your gear (because-spoiler alert-there are zero amenities), and budget around €100 to arrange reliable local boat transfers at least a couple weeks ahead. Bring sturdy hiking boots, water-lots of it-provisions worthy of a distinguished shipwrecked pirate, and a headlamp to avoid stumbling off cliffs in search of the designated "bathroom bush." At dawn, arise to witness nature's own fireworks-a sunrise illuminating volcanic craters left over from the island's fiery adolescence some 20,000 years ago-and curse the inevitable fact that your Instagram shots won't possibly capture its volcanic soul. It's the kind of journey that's a bit uncomfortable, slightly irrational, and yet undeniably worth it-because some adventures should be measured not in star ratings, but simply by how great a story they leave behind.